


Broken Pieces

by DeathDirt



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Asshole Nanu, Eventual love confession, F/M, References to Anime Scenes, Repressed Emotions, Trippy Dream Sequence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathDirt/pseuds/DeathDirt
Summary: Since the inaugural Pokémon League, Guzma and Team Skull have been training like mad to win the next one. He seems happier than ever.But his dreams have been forcing some long-forgotten childhood trauma to the surface, and it makes him lash out at Plumeria.After all, who could love such a colossal fuck-up like Guzma?
Relationships: Guzma/Plumeri | Plumeria (Pokemon)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a one shot that expanded so there’s probably a pretty noticeable change of tone after this first chapter, but otherwise this is basically angst with a love confession at the end.

“Hey! Remember what I told ya, numskull! Your little Pokémon don’t pack a lotta power, but you keep ‘em quick and they can wear down a bigger opponent.” Guzma pats the first plate of armor over Golisopod’s head. “Ya keep ‘em quick _after_ they get big? Gonna spell trouble for anyone messin’ with you.” Grunts whoop and whistle even in the middle of training. The whole gang’s settled into a routine of newfound confidence and direction, spending hours at a time honing their battle skills on the courtyard just outside the mansion in Po Town with their beloved boss. Guzma himself has even seemed to improve, both in mood and in battle. 

There’s still a long way to go before the grunts _really_ get good, and part of that involves getting more food for them and their Pokémon so that they won’t be distracted by hunger so often. That being said, it’s also a great motivation for all of them. A few mentions of how the best of ‘em get extra food when Big Sis comes back and they all become ravenous beasts. Not that they needed the extra motivation, of course, the desire to do well in the boss’s eyes is motivation enough for them. And even though the grunts really aren’t too much of a challenge for his own Pokémon, it keeps them exercised and mentally prepared, since Guzma will randomly force the grunts to fight without letting their Pokémon use moves so that they all have to get creative with their battling.

Masquerain zips by close to Guzma’s head, chased soon after by a Zubat. Scizor and Pinsir fight five grunts’ Pokémon, unrelenting in their assault. Ariados helps the grunts learn to weasel their way out of a sticky situation (and Guzma chuckles every time he thinks of when he first said that and the grunts laughed and groaned in equal measure). Vikavolt zips around, occasionally zapping some grunt’s Pokémon and joining the fray even when the grunts and their Pokémon are exhausted.

All of this for the eventual rematch at the League.

At least for the rest of the gang. Guzma leans back against a miraculously standing stone wall with his arms crossed, and his smile falters for the first time since that morning. The training with the grunts is great, there’s no questioning that. They’re all getting better day by day, even with the strong Pokémon they have to get battered by. And there is no question that they are getting better at battling and better bonded with their Pokémon. But Guzma? 

He’s felt stagnant.

The kid at the conference forced him to re-evaluate half of his life. How he’d somehow projected his own anxiety and coping mechanism onto his best friend and partner. All of the battles he’d maybe lost on purpose because he couldn’t handle the idea that he could win if he only tried. Hell, he’d even entertained the idea of sneaking out of Po Town to beg Kukui to let him sit in on his stupid classes. Just to add to the stress, of course, is Nanu showing up every couple of days to tell Guzma that he’s sick of driving off some middle-aged asshole that, gee, has your eyes, Guzma, and the same fluffy curls of hair and strong sorta square jawline too, funny that. 

Apparently his appearance at Manalo had motivated someone to force himself back where he wasn’t wanted. Guzma worries that one of the grunts is gonna stumble into this guy without himself or Plumeria around and that the bastard will try something stupid.

He forces himself to shake out of his thoughts and grin while his Pokémon start to visibly struggle from the exhaustion and continued onslaught from the grunts. They’re only tired from having to fight for so long more than any of the damage that’s been done, but the grunts need their small victories, especially since so many of their own Pokémon are still going strong. That being said, it’s nearly dusk, and Plumeria will be back with food any minute. They should probably call it so they don’t vomit up their food like they did the first day they didn’t quit a few minutes early. 

“Yo! Pack it up, get inside! Food’s gonna be here in ten minutes, and if you puke it up, it’s on your ass!” Guzma opens up the mansion doors and grunts trundle in, tired but talking with barely-contained excitement about all the work they’ve put in today. Behind them, his own Pokémon lumber through, collapsing into a pile before they get more than a few feet into the door. Once they’ve all settled, Guzma peers down the road to see if Plumeria’s come back while they all shuffled in. Unfortunately, there’s no sign of pink and yellow coming towards the mansion. Nothing to get too worried about yet, though Guzma plans on meeting her halfway if she’s not back after he gets the grunts out of the way. He turns to the gang at the front door, and doesn’t this feel familiar. “Alright you little shits, tell me - how we feelin’?!”

“The worst of the worst, boss!” Half of them yell. “Blue and black and ain’t ever goin’ back!” The other half cry. They start to cheer and whistle for themselves, louder and louder as Guzma walks to the back of the main floor and steps up the first flight, facing the gang once he gets to the landing.

“That’s what I like to hear! We’re goin’ hard at it tomorrow, and guess what? You’re all gettin’ into a tournament next week!” Gasps of excitement go up through the gang of teenagers. Guzma grins. “That’s right, and what’re ya gonna do there?!”

“Fight ‘til we can’t no more!”

“Go harder than hard!”

“Don’t give up even when we’re on the ground!”

“Show these Alola boneheads who’s really in charge!”

“ _ **YEAH!!!**_ ” The grunts cheer for each other, and Guzma has to cover his ears a bit to maybe save himself from at least a little hearing loss.

He laughs at the endless energy from his grunts. It’s infectious. “That’s right! You’re gonna rep Team Skull, best battlers in Alola, and you’re gonna show everyone there that there ain’t no way around it, right?!” A chorus of _Right!_ flies up among the grunts. Guzma laughs again, glad to see that they’re all into this. “Alright, now get your asses up to your rooms! Don’t need you dipshits passing out on me when we go hard for this tournament.” 

The grunts laugh in a downright Exploud-level of noise. They gather up and slowly funnel towards the upstairs bedrooms, and as they pass, they all start doing their usual thing, except...

“Hell yeah, boss, love the hype!”

“Lovin’ this, Boss!”

“Boss Guzma, we fuckin’ love you!”

The word bounces off at first. Like a pebble thrown at his chest. But they say it, they keep saying it, they say it over and over, and the pebbles become rocks, and the rocks are getting bigger and bigger the more they say it. The final click of a latch is nearly deafening as Guzma stares blankly at the intricate pattern of the destroyed rug, visible even after decades of dust and debris. This mansion is home in more ways than one, Guzma thinks. He walks back to the front doors and opens them. There’s a few crumbling bits of stone he drags over to keep the doors propped open amidst Po Town’s eternal whistling wind. And then he stands there, in the doorway, nearly motionless, staring at nothing. That goddamn word.

If nothing else, Guzma thinks angrily as he kicks at a fallen support beam, he inherited his father’s double standard. He can tell his Pokémon or the grunts or Plumeria that he loves them and mean it, without any question, because he does. Guzma never found any place he belonged more than Team Skull, and he really does love them all for it. He just hadn’t been ready to put the word to that feeling, or even acknowledge it until after Manalo, after the grunts and Plumeria had all stuck with him like glue even after the first loss any of them had ever seen. Plumeria helped him recognize the feeling. 

But he can’t hear it from any of them without feeling like it’s coming from an old tape. Staticky, grainy, dull and droll. Meaningless noise meant to help someone while away boredom. On some logical level, he knows that they do mean it. But it’s impossible to believe in the moment. Sometimes he can’t really tell if he does love them all or not, if he has such a hard time believing the rest of the team when they say that they love him. More lovely gifts from a dad that didn’t want him.

Guzma exhales, and his shoulders sag. Golisopod rumbles as it approaches, tapping his shoulders and back gently with its smaller arms. Guzma turns to his partner and forces the smallest of smiles. “Yeah... ‘m fine. Too much thinkin’. About...being little.” Golisopod’s rumbling picks up immediately, concerned chirps and churrs because it knows. It was there for most of it, of course it knows. Guzma relaxes back into Golisopod, raising an arm to put over his partner’s shell, pull it closer and turn to rest his forehead on its armor. “We don’t live there anymore,” Guzma mutters, eyes screwed shut, “And we don’t owe anybody anything. He wants to fuck up our happy family, we fuck up his fuckin’ face.” Golisopod nuzzles closer and makes a sound like a hiccoughing rumble. Its own approximation of a laugh. The sound is delightfully disturbing.

Golisopod lived through a lot of the awful childhood Guzma had. It knows better than any other the lengths Guzma will go to to keep that man away from Po Town. It also knows that Guzma’s emotional trauma at the hands of Kukui wasn’t exactly the professor’s fault. Only a breaking point. Being witness to it all, Golisopod doesn’t want anything more than to keep its trainer from suffering the same way again.

“Damn, was I gone that long? You two look like the cover of a shitty romance novella.” Guzma opens one eye. Plumeria is standing just a few feet away, smiling and carrying four bags of takeout with dust clinging to her sweats. Guzma wordlessly takes the bags from her, and she mocks offense. “Ex- _cuse_ you, that is my food for my little brothers and sisters. What hoodlum would steal from an innocent young lady?”

Guzma snorts. “Oh yeah, innocent. When we first met, you were running from the cops for stealing a kid’s bag of weed.”

“Exactly. Innocent. I was protecting Alola from an awful delinquent. You ever seen your brain on drugs?” Both of them chuckle. Golisopod rumbles as it wraps its arms around Plumeria for a forceful hug. She reaches up to pat the bug’s head. “Hello Dumb, how’s Dumber been?” Golisopod’s hiccoughing laugh has Guzma rolling his eyes. Plumeria opens the door to the kitchen and helps Guzma set the food on the countertops. It’s easier to just have the food laid out for the grunts than to risk having everything destroyed and fall to the floor the way it did the first year or two the gang was around.

Plumeria can tell something is wrong, she knew it from the unseeing glaze in Guzma’s eyes as she walked up to the mansion. Asking him now would probably make him clam up and run to his room, so she keeps the thought in the back of her head. “Gang did good today, I hope?”

“Yeah, and I told them about that tournament we got them all signed up for. They went wild when I told them about that.”

“Did you mention it was pretty small? Because we took up, like, half the total entries.”

Guzma scoffs. “You think they care? Small or not, they gotta get out there somehow, and they can only do so much training here with us. They’ve gotta get out and get some real practice in against other trainers. And I’ve gotta get them ready for that.”

Plumeria nods. “True. But...” She slides her hand up Guzma’s arm to rub his shoulder. “You need rest, too. Numskull.” Plumeria gently bumps her knuckles against Guzma’s cheek, and he laughs, does the same right back. Then the two of them are laughing at each other while they exchange “blows”, soft and gentle touches back and forth until they’re laughing so hard they can barely breathe. They lean against each other, foreheads pressed together as they slowly thread their fingers together. As vulnerable as they care to be outside the privacy of their own rooms.

Plumeria exhales deeply through her nose. “Better get the grunts before the food sits for too long.” Guzma grunts, although he’s slow to let her go. He takes his own container of food, then a second one, following Plumeria out of the kitchen. While she goes to get the grunts downstairs, Guzma takes the opposite flight of stairs to his own bedroom. Plumeria taps her short nails against the wood railing. There’s a lot of frustration that comes with being Guzma’s second-in-command and maybe-sometimes-depends-on-the-day girlfriend. He’s got a lot of fucked-up in his head, Plumeria knew that the moment she met him. But the way Guzma internalizes all of it makes it difficult to get through to him, mentally. To be fair, he’s had plenty of time to practice keeping other people out of his head, far more time than Plumeria’s had to try to get into it.

Plumeria puts it all out of her mind for now. The grunts need to get their food before it gets cold. She knocks on every door and points the twenty or so kids down to the kitchen, all of them scrambling to get downstairs before their adoptive brothers and sisters. Once they’d all filed out and spread across the first floor, Plumeria walks to the other side of the upper level, knocking with a specific pattern for Guzma to know it’s her before she walks in. He’s pacing slowly across the length of the room, deep in thought. So much so that his only response to Plumeria coming in is a half nod and a soft grunt. 

Plumeria isn’t bothered by it. It used to piss her off when he did that - what kind of dick takes you in and gets the cops off your ass then acts like you aren’t worth his time to even say ‘hi’ when you walk in the door? Anymore, she knows better. This is how he gets when he’s wading through his own thoughts, only trying to get through them without letting them cling like mud. 

But how often does that happen?

Plumeria’s halfway through her meal when Guzma sits heavily beside her, rubbing his hands together the way she’s seen Nanu do sometimes when he’s at his limit. She doesn’t say anything or acknowledge Guzma in any way at first, content to let him talk to her whenever he’s ready. After another moment, he speaks. “We’ve...gotta do something about the guy that keeps hangin’ around outside of town.” Plumeria nods to show that she’s listening while she eats. Guzma inhales deeply. “I don’t know how to actually get him outta here, but I don’t want something happening to the grunts because we left the dipshit alone.”

Plumeria sets down the empty takeout container and the pilfered fork. “Alright. Make that a priority between training the grunts, to go and check out the spots around town that he might try to hide in, drive him out.” Guzma starts to nod, then suddenly he hangs his head between his shoulders, groaning lowly. Plumeria doesn’t ask what’s wrong. 

She knows as well as Guzma who’s been stalking outside of Po Town. They had suspicions before, but when Nanu gave them a physical description, assuming it was a buyer for some Pokémon they’d stolen, he confirmed it. It’s not someone Plumeria thinks is healthy for Guzma to take on alone. 

Stories are one thing. Scars are another.

Plumeria exhales a sharp breath. “You don’t have to go alone, y’know. Even if it’s just me. Hell, I’m sure Nanu’s niece or whatever would go with you if you asked.” Guzma silently shakes his head. Beyond the window, the gray skies darken to black. Storm. And a big one, judging by the way the wind whistles past the clattering window. Potentially a hurricane. If they’re lucky, the tarps and such that they’ve “commandeered” from Nanu will hold up against the cold, wet wind. Then again, there’s going to be more than one kind of storm to weather tonight. Plumeria splays her hand gingerly on Guzma’s back. Maybe all he needs is reassurance. Plumeria sighs, amber eyes rolling skyward. This is so much easier with punks who _don’t_ hide everything that makes them feel a spark of emotion. “It’s gonna be fine, alright? No matter what, just remember that the whole gang is here for you. We won’t bail on you when you need us. Okay?” Guzma nods.

Plumeria isn’t sure if he believes her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small tw at the beginning for derealization and unclear reality

_We’re here to help you._

_You can always come to us if you need something._

_Never be afraid of seeking help._

_We won’t bail on you when you need us._

All of the words echo as Guzma walks forward. He’s in a dark corridor. The floors and walls are washed, creaking wood, bleached by ages spent in the open weather. Except how could they be? It’s a long box, there’s no sun, no weather to wear the boards. Guzma shakes his head, eyes closed. Suddenly, when he opens them again, he’s standing on a familiar wooden platform under gray skies with fog all around. Iki Town. Pained screeching pulls his gaze up. Golisopod is slumped over, heaving with pained breaths. “Hey-!” He starts, but before he takes more than a step, his legs sink into the wood as though it were made of mud. Guzma whips his head back and forth, trying to figure out what is going on. He reaches for his partner, except his arms are yanked down beneath the wood too. 

_Spoiled bratty boy of mine._ Guzma snarls as he looks back up. Where Kukui stood years ago. In his place was the too-familiar face. _I told you this would happen, didn’t I?_ Guzma narrows his eyes. The only thing he ever heard worth listening to from his asshole father was _go away_. The ghost shakes his head, tutting as though speaking to a temperamental child. _Guzma, you think so little of me? After all I gave you? All of my love and respect, and this is how you repay me?_

The shadow takes a step, and Guzma feels himself jerk downwards. _You repay me by becoming a filthy, stupid gangster._ Another sinking jerk. _You disgrace my name by going against the esteemed professor of Alola and Kahuna Hala himself._ Guzma sinks further, and now he’s panicking, his head is barely above the wood, his shallow breath is blasted back in his face, deflected by the platform. _And you don’t even have the guts to be a real trainer._ A hand fists his curls, forcing his head back to stare into a mirror image of his own two eyes. _You can’t even disrespect me properly, boy._

The grip in his hair shoves Guzma down, and he slaps his freed hands over his mouth and nose. Water surrounds him, crushing, inky depths, pressure building on all sides, nothing but wet darkness for miles around him. Nobody to help, nobody to hear. Guzma cracks his eyes open, and blurry hands thrust into the water. He looks up, where they’re all coming from, and distorted faces stare blankly down. Kukui, Hala, Nanu, even Plumeria’s face gaze into the water without the slightest hint of emotion. He can see their mouths moving, their hands start to wave through the water, but not to help. They all see him, they know exactly where he is, they just...they just want to _look_ like they’re helping. He wants to get mad, wants to swim up to the surface and teach them all a lesson, but the fire in his gut dies before it can build past a spark. 

Guzma can’t hold his breath any longer, he feels like he’s about to pass out. He gulps seawater into his lungs. It feels like broken glass in his throat but he keeps breathing it in. Something grabs the back of his hoodie and drags him up through the crushing water. He’s flung down just as quickly as he was dragged up, and he bounces along the ground, finally allowed a moment’s respite flat on his stomach with his nose in the dirt. 

“You know we love you, right?”

“I’ll take you in, if teaching is what you want.”

“Blind is the master who won’t accept a changed student.”

Guzma forces himself onto his hands and knees, looks up. Fear grips him. Faceless heads of the people he thought he could trust, surrounded by an eyeless Team Skull. Guzma scrambles backwards, but claws pin him down. Golisopod is above him. He should be happy. The only thing he can feel is fear and unease. His partner tilts its head. It’s mouth opens, and the horrible voice drifts out. _Why so scared, boy? They’re all friends, after all...aren’t they?_

-

Guzma screams, and bolts upright, heaving with terrified breaths. Footsteps suddenly thunder through the hall. The door bangs as it flies open.

“Guzma! What happened?!”

“Boss, what’s wrong?!”

“Did someone try to break in? We’ll teach ‘em a lesson!”

“Yeah, bring ‘em on, we can take whatever punk tries to mess with Team Skull!”

Guzma stares straight ahead at the wall, eyelid twitching, breathing heavily, sweat clinging to every square inch of skin. Plumeria furrows her brow. He looks like he didn’t even notice them all barge in. She shakes her head and turns to the grunts. “Everyone out.” Each of the teenagers shuffles and mutters, murmuring among themselves about what they should do. Plumeria glares. “Get out!” The grunts quiet, hesitant to leave, but they all do. Plumeria shuts and locks the door as soon as the last grunt is gone. Guzma is still sitting paralyzed with fear in his bed, staring unseeing in one direction, pupils less than pinpricks in his gray eyes. Golisopod churrs with concern, having been sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

Plumeria approaches quietly. Golisopod rises to its feet slowly, tapping its smaller claws on Guzma’s legs to try getting his attention, gauge his responsiveness. Guzma blinks a few times, and his breathing evens out. He groans, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. Golisopod leans forward, and Guzma finally seems to see. “Huh...? Oh. Hey. Big guy. What’s wrong?” Guzma rubs the pad of his thumb over the dark triangle on Golisopod’s second armor plate. When Plumeria sits on the edge of the mattress, his eyes flick over, but he doesn’t respond otherwise. “What?”

“What? What do you mean ‘what’? Why did you yell like that? You got us all scared that someone was in here and trying to do something to you. Dope.” Plumeria smacks the back of Guzma’s head, and his forehead collides with Golisopod’s shell. He groans. His free hand rubs across his eyes. Plumeria’s brow furrows more when she finally gets a good look at Guzma. Drenched in sweat, paler than usual, and with a distant look in his eyes. Like he’s not completely aware yet. 

Guzma shakes his head and drops both hands to his lap. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, “I didn’t scream or yell or anything. Just. Had a dream.” The corner of his mouth pulls downward.

When he looks over at Plumeria, he half-expects the same faceless head from his dream. Plumeria has a face, though, and it’s very pissed. She stands suddenly, looming over Guzma. “The hell do you mean you didn’t scream? The fuck did we all come running in here for, then, idiot?” Plumeria inhales, ready to keep laying into him, but she stops. Confused. Usually if she yells at Guzma, he gets fired right back up in return, and the two of them just feed off each other’s energy until they both feel better. But instead, he looks like a kicked puppy.

 _Just had a dream._

Plumeria sighs. She sits back down at the edge of the mattress and rests her forehead in her hand. “Guzma. I’m gonna ask right now as your friend - what was your dream about? Because you _did_ scream. And, believe it or not, everyone got pretty scared when they heard you scream...like that.”

His eyebrows are knitted together when he turns his head towards his second. “Like what?”

Plumeria stares at the rubble on the floor. She closes her eyes and shifts back to sit more squarely on the mattress. “Like someone was in here and you were doing everything you could to keep them off. Like someone was in here _hurting_ you.” Normally it would be satisfying to see Guzma look so humbled. Plumeria opens her eyes to catch his, and he’s wearing a face she’s never seen. He’s scared. Scared and confused. And that worries her. 

“Look, it was nothin’. Okay? Dreams are dreams. I mean, you went to sleep in the middle of your first acid trip and told me you dreamt about purple cloud-eating Phanpy that sang songs about how humans loved juggling orange apples. It’s...nothing.” Guzma looks down and away, at the wall.

Plumeria tilts her head. “It’s not nothing.” She gently guides Guzma’s face back with a hand on his cheek. “Guzma. Tell me. Whatever you dreamed about has you fucked up.”

Guzma grabs her wrist and pulls her hand away from his face. “It doesn’t. I’m fine.” He gets up to grab his hoodie from where it’s draped over the old broken sofa. As he’s stepping towards the door, Plumeria jumps up to stand in his way.

“What the fuck, Guzma? I’m trying to help!”

“Why the fuck would you help me?” Guzma crowds her against the door until their noses barely touch. “You want to help me about as much as Kukui and Hala wanted to help me as an idiot kid. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.” Guzma pulls the hoodie over his shoulders. Plumeria is stunned, to the point that she doesn’t resist when Guzma pushes her out of the way. He looks over his shoulder at his Pokémon. “Hey! Golisopod! Let’s move it!” The bug Pokémon is unsure as it follows, but it does follow. Guzma puts it back in its Pokéball as he storms out the front door. A couple of the grunts run after him, but he whirls on them, grabbing one by the front of their tank. “Move it!” The grunts all let out an ‘oof!’ as the first is tossed onto the two behind them.

Plumeria can’t understand what’s changed. Last night, Guzma was stressed, but he’s been happier than ever since the new routine settled in. 

Maybe...maybe he’ll be fine after he walks this off. Hopefully he’ll be fine. And hopefully he’ll be back before the storm returns. Looking for Guzma would be bad enough, but looking for him in a hurricane? 

Plumeria does everything she can to distract herself. Training grunts, yelling at grunts, grooming Salazzle, she even goes so far as to clean her room up. Well, ‘clean’ gives the impression that everything was neat and tidy; she gives some order to the chaos. But she can’t do it forever. Even with everything she can and does do, her mind drifts back to Guzma, how he was acting earlier. Plumeria sighs as she leans against the front doorway. It’s only noon. The sun’s out as the eye of the storm passes over, but the weather will be back soon. She’s worried Guzma thinks he can wear out this kind of weather while he stews in his bad attitude. Even when he’s a boneheaded dipshit, Plumeria still cares about him. 

“Boyfriend gone?” Plumeria jumps at the sudden voice. Nanu walks over from his place under the palm with his hands up. “Take it easy, I’m just checking in, making sure you’re all alive.”

“Yeah. We’re good. And you’re right, Guzma’s gone.” Plumeria doesn’t say more than that at first. Nanu’s a kahuna after all, even if he is a pretty bad one. But is it possible...?

“Are you gonna ask me where he is or do you want some kind of old man advice? Because you’re asking the wrong guy for both of those.” 

Plumeria huffs and crosses her arms. “What makes you think I wanna ask the kahuna anything?”

Nanu snorts. He crosses his arms and leans against an iron fence that managed to stay standing, mirroring Plumeria’s stance with a knowing smirk. “I’ve got a sixth sense for these things. May as well ask. Bad answer’s better than no answer.”

“What am I supposed to ask you? You already said you don’t know where he is.”

Nanu shrugs. “Then ask me something else. Your clock’s ticking.” He glances up at the shifting clouds. “And I do mean that.”

Plumeria sighs. Nanu and his cryptic grandpa bullshit. “Okay, fine. Guzma had some messed up dream or something and when I tried to get him to tell me what was wrong, he yelled at me like it was my fault.”

Nanu tilts his head and frowns. “Thought you two weren’t much of a lover’s quarrel sort.”

“Are you gonna say anything useful or do you want me to kick you out?!”

The old cop raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Easy, spitfire. I couldn’t tell you why he’s pissed, but as far as his dreams go, it probably involved you, doing something that made him angry or scared.” Plumeria blinks. “Guzma’s not that complicated once you know the details.” Nanu turns his head and glares at a piece of cobblestone. Some days he regrets getting so interested in the punk. And not just for the trouble said punk brought him. 

“He never got the chance to grow up the way a kid should, so now he’s constantly fighting for his childhood back, and when he’s not, he tries to act like it never happened, like it hasn’t shaped who he is and what he’s done. Guzma acts like that childhood is separate from himself, when it’s really the bedrock everything else has built up from.” He looks back to Plumeria with narrowed eyes. “His entire foundation as a human being is built on sand, Plumeria. You’ve done a good job shoring it up...but loose foundations can’t stay up forever.” Nanu pushes away from the fencing and starts off down the road. He waves over his shoulder. “Hope that was good enough, because I’m not waiting to get soaked out here!” 

Plumeria looks up at the clouds slowly swirling again. The wind is starting to pick up, too. Someone tugs on her sweats. “Uh, big sis?” Plumeria turns around to talk to the grunts. “We’re tryin’ to get everything locked up before shit hits the fan again. ...Is, uh...is the boss back yet?” Plumeria taps her fingertips on her elbow.

“Not yet. But keep the front door open. If Guzma’s not back in another hour, I’m gonna go out and find him.”

The hour waiting for Guzma is spent checking on all the tarps and boarded up windows around the house. Some of them Plumeria fixes herself, others she makes the grunts do. Some of the older rooms have leaks in the ceiling, and Plumeria takes the time to fetch buckets and pots for all of them. Patching them might take too much time, and besides, the rainwater is free to leave for the Pokémon to drink. Most of them even prefer it. As the hour comes to an end, the wind starts to pick back up, and light rain softly patters along the roof. Plumeria goes to the front door, looking out on the lonely road of Po Town. 

After a moment of looking, she squints. The rain is picking up and the sheets of water are making it harder to see, but down the road, there’s someone walking. It doesn’t look like Nanu, Nanu’s taller than that, and he doesn’t wear a hood, it’s- “Yo, the boss is back!” Grunts clamor around the entryway, eager to greet their boss back as soon as he steps in. At first, she’s excited as well, but Plumeria’s face falls when Guzma suddenly stops, shudders, and collapses halfway down the road. She snags her own hoodie from where it’s draped over an old chair and rushes out, grunts close behind. 

The gang gathers around the fallen, motionless form of their leader, grunts muttering quietly to one another. Plumeria stoops down to get a better look at the boss. His breath is shallow, there’s bruises on his jaw, a few cuts at the corner of his mouth, and he’s as pale as he was when he woke this morning. Plumeria drags Guzma’s arm around her shoulders, then looks across the grunts. “Hey! Aki! Get his other arm, hurry it up!” Akitoshi runs forward to do as he’s told while the other grunts run back to the mansion to start clearing things away. Plumeria and Akitoshi half-drag the boss all the way up to the mansion and into the front door. Plumeria points towards the couch that rests on fallen rubble. “Get that thing flat and clear it off.” 

Once the grunts have pulled it off the unsteady pile, Plumeria motions to Akitoshi. “Hey, let go of that side and grab his legs, let’s get him on here. And the rest of you!” The gang stands at attention. “Blankets and pillows, and whatever first aid that we have, got it?” Grunts nod, then scramble off across the mansion. Plumeria and Akitoshi work together to lift Guzma onto the small couch. She waves him off to help his brothers and sisters, then kneels on the floor beside Guzma. His hoodie is soaked, and Plumeria slowly peels it off of his unconscious body. For a moment, she’s stunned. His arms and shoulders and collar are all covered in bruises and scratches, some deeper than others, most of them looking more like failed stabs and poor punches. 

Plumeria shakes her head. Those are all minor wounds, they’ll heal fine so long as they’re disinfected. Rapp is the first one down the stairs with blankets bundled in her arms. She sets them on the arm of the sofa and helps Plumeria spread them out over the boss. As the grunt reaches for another blanket, she nudges something in the boss’s pocket, and it makes a plastic-y clack as it falls to the floor. Rapp’s pupils reduce to tiny black pinpricks as she picks it up with shaky hands. Plumeria doesn’t notice until the younger girl speaks up. “B-big sis...?” Plumeria turns with the intent to snap, but stops with her mouth open when she sees what Rapp’s found.

A Pokéball, ripped open with something sharp punched through the side and dragged through the device. It’s bizarre to see a Pokéball damaged like that. They get broken every so often when a Pokémon’s attack goes off course and hits the ball rather than the target, but this wasn’t caused by a Pokémon. Wait...

Plumeria pats Guzma’s pockets, then sticks her hand in to properly search, but nothing. She turns back to Rapp, still staring at the Pokéball in her hands. 

The younger grunt beats her to it. “Sis... This is Golisopod’s Pokéball.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh
> 
> Anyway. Rescue chapter and then confession chapter.


End file.
